“Strange delusions?” queried Craig. “Why, what do you mean?”
“Say,” ejaculated the man. “I don’t know you, You come here saying you’re friends of Mr. Thornton’s. How do I know what you are?”
“Well,” ventured Kennedy, “suppose I should also tell you I am a friend of the man who committed him.”
“Of Dr. Thompson Lord?”
“Exactly. My friend here knows Dr. Lord very well, don’t you, Walter?”
Thus appealed to I hastened to add, “Indeed I do.” Then, improving the opening, I hastened: “Is this Mr. Thornton violent? I think this is one of the most quiet institutions I ever saw for so small a place.”
The man shook his head.
“Because,” I added, “I thought some drug fiends were violent and had to be restrained by force, often.”
“You won’t find a mark or a scratch on him, sir,” replied the man. “That ain’t our system.”
“Not a mark or scratch on him,” repeated Kennedy thoughtfully. “I wonder if he’d recognise me?”